


Run Dry

by PlatinumAndPercocet



Category: Fall Out Boy
Genre: Aftermath of Violence, Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - No Band, Alternate Universe - Teachers, Angels and Kings, Angst and Fluff and Smut, F/M, M/M, Multi, POV Original Character, Photography, Platonic Relationships, Polyamory, mild violence
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-17
Updated: 2017-09-21
Packaged: 2018-12-30 22:25:02
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 13,061
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12118488
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PlatinumAndPercocet/pseuds/PlatinumAndPercocet
Summary: Everything in moderation is a phrase that Patrick doesn't always remember...





	1. Step One: Drink

**Author's Note:**

  * For [SnitchesAndTalkers](https://archiveofourown.org/users/SnitchesAndTalkers/gifts).



> Another story, another round lurking in my established wheelhouse. I know, poly and OFC. WHAT A STEP. It makes me happy, so. 
> 
> Comments and kudos are so appreciated, I cant begin to tell you how much ai adore them. 
> 
> This has not been betad, as per usual. Any mistakes are mine and mine alone. 
> 
> SnitchesAndTalkers, thank you for being a cheerleader and an enabler.
> 
>  
> 
> Aural Satisfaction for ths round is (you guessed it) 'Run Dry' by Patrick Stump. 
> 
> Thank you so much for taking the time to read, it means the world. 
> 
>  
> 
> I hope y'all enjoy.

There were moments in time that I regretted my decisions; not many, mind you, but every now and then one would come up and letting anyone else set my ringtone was absolutely one of those times. As much as I loved Smooth Criminal, and like any self respecting human in this entire country, I did, it wasn’t exactly an easy thing to wake up to. Especially at… christ fuck. What time was it? My eyes were blurry and unfocused, glasses somehow long discarded in a moment of exhausted clarity, although my foggy, sleep-drunk brain couldn’t remember where and I was barely coordinated enough to actually fish around on the coffee table for my phone before it stopped ringing. Somehow, I located the device and managed to swipe to accept the call before nearly sobbing a ‘hello’ as I tried, desperately, to figure out what the fuck time it was. Then again, the voice on the other end of the line took care of that for me. Nearly last call. So it was around one-thirty. The last thing my sleepy brain remembered was some housewife or other flipping a table before I finally gave into sleep not even halfway through grading the stack of essays that still perched on the corner of my coffee table. Fuck. Not a whole lot was said, it really didn’t need to be, just an address, and I was disconnecting my phone and pushing myself up, wiping my eyes absently as the room came into something resembling focus, at least as much as it could for me. My glasses stood out in stark relief against the bright white of one of the less than stellar essays that I’d been attempting to grade. No wonder I crashed. Snagging them, I slid the frames carefully into place as I wandered into the kitchen and quickly set up the coffee maker, a small smile playing at my lips as the rich scent filtered quickly into the air. It was a small thing, granted, but a necessity at this point. Then again, I was possibly a little too dependent on the beverage. There were worse things. Satisfied that the pot would be both finished brewing and still hot when I got back, I grabbed a hoodie from the closet and shoved my car keys in the pocket as I shrugged it on over my ratty band t-shirt and leggings. Not exactly haute couture, but I hadn’t been planning on actually leaving my house at all until I had to be at work monday morning. 

Any lingering sleepiness that was still clinging to the edges of my consciousness dissipated as soon as I stepped out the door. The air was colder than usual for this time of year and the rain that had been forecast for the weekend was starting early; stinging drops that landed on my glasses as they fell towards the ground. There wasn’t any accumulation to speak of yet, hell the pavement didn’t even shine, not really, but that was far from comforting given the totals that that had been called for. Shoving my hands in my pockets, I dropped my head and made a beeline for my car, cranking both the heat and stereo as soon as I was inside, and bemoaning my lack of an actual jacket. At least it should be a fast trip. 

It was indeed, the roads deserted due to both the hour and the slowly growing storm, and by the time I’d pulled up at the bar, the parking lot beside it was nearly deserted. Perfect. The rain was falling a little heavier; fat, wet drops spattering against everything and making their presence known as they collected in the cracks of the scarred asphalt. Allie’s wasn’t a dive, but it wasn’t exactly high-class either; in other words, it was perfect. The wooden boards creaked beneath my boots and the familiar smell of beer and lingering cigarette smoke hung heavily in the air, mixing with the music from the same jukebox that had been sitting in the corner since I’d snuck in with a fake ID for the first time. I didn’t come in often any more, but it was still my first choice on those rare occasions and the last few stragglers were all hazily familiar faces. The small, raised stage in the far corner still had a smattering of instruments and cords from the band that had played as they loaded out. The bartender, though, was more than. He’d been around for years, and had served both me and my older brothers for our first legal outing when we had all turned twenty-one. “Hey there, Sunshine. Fancy seeing you here.” I rolled my eyes at the man with a smile and a shake of my head. “You keep flattering me, Steve, it may pay off one day.” The bright grin sent my way belied the man’s grizzled appearance and his dark eyes crinkled at the corners. 

“I will, Sunshine. Maggie said you have a standing invite to Sunday dinner, you just have to show up.” The invitation was genuine, as it always was, and I tipped my head in appreciation. The same offer was made each and every time I came in, and it somehow brought a little brightness to what were, unquestionably, dark nights. 

“ I’ll think about it, I promise.” The words were genuine, they always were, but my smile slipped as I let my gaze wander around the darkened bar before catching sight of a familiar bright blond head in the corner. 

“You do that, Sunshine. He’s had a good night, although I was almost afraid he was going to leave on me more than once.” Steve slid a set of keys across the scarred mahogany bar top and I pocketed them with a nod before heading towards the table tucked in a dark corner. Dim lights glinted off the trio of shot glasses that were scattered across the wooden surface, sticky with sloshed alcohol and sugary syrups, as I slid onto one of the three empty stools that surrounded it, turning my attention to the sole occupant with a sigh that I kept to myself. 

“Having a good night, Baby Boy?” The nickname went back nearly a decade, having been bestowed on a then baby-faced college freshman who didn’t look a day over fifteen. I didn’t use it nearly as much now, but it still slipped out on rare occasions, or not so much, as it were. 

“Joey!” Patrick’s voice was just this side of too loud, and his arms were quickly around my neck, a sloppy kiss pressed against my cheek. “I’m glad you came. ‘M’havin’ a very good night.” The latter words were slurred and muffled against my shoulder as Trick squirmed and got comfortable, nearly toppling us both off our stools in the process. I loved my best friend, I really, really did. And he loved everybody, especially when he was drunk, and he would show everybody that too. His sense of boundaries was fairly loose when he was sober; he was forever touching people, in the most innocent of ways of course, and when he was drunk, that was amplified by nearly a million and he hung and kissed and was just generally handsy, though it rarely resulted in anything negative, aside from a few ill-advised one night stands. Well, that I knew of anyway. Gravity, however, was not his friend when he was like this, and it took everything I had to brace both myself and him on the stools as I shook my head, my arm wrapped tightly around his waist, blonde hair fluffed in my eyes. “Yeah, that’s what Steve said. Now. As much as I love being here and nearly falling on the floor, what do you say we head to my place, huh? The spare room is made up and I’ve got a pot of coffee on.” It was a speech I had made a variation on many times before, and tonight was no exception. Lifting his head slowly from my shoulder, Patrick met my eyes and my heart sank just a little; his blue eyes, usually so sharp and clear, were glazed and he stumbled over his words, slurring them even more heavily than usual before he pressed his face back against my neck. 

“You’re too good to me, Joey.” I knew a lot of people would probably agree with him, but I didn’t, I couldn’t, and my smile was sad as I turned just enough to press a kiss to his soft, messy hair. 

“ Not at all true, Baby Boy, and you know it. Now come on, let’s start heading home, huh? It’s starting to get bad out there.” Trick blinked and looked around for a moment in the darkness, although what exactly was going on behind his eyes remained a mystery as we both slid off our stools, miraculously managing to keep our footing. Even standing still, I was fairly certain that I held more of Patrick’s weight than he did, and he still swayed slightly on unsteady feet. Fuck. I gave a cursory glance at the table, noting the scraps of paper that sat on it, black ink long smudged with droplets of spilled liquor and water that had carelessly splashed over the sides of glasses. I didn’t bother retrieving them as Steve’s earlier words echoed through my mind absently. They weren’t worth it. Blowing out a heavy breath, I adjusted Trick’s arm over my shoulders in a vain attempt to maybe make walking a bit easier. It didn’t work. His feet were heavy, black shoes scuffing against the worn floorboards as we made our way towards the door. It was an unusually difficult task as Patrick managed to stop and talk to half of the patrons left in the bar, especially the women. They didn’t object. Then again, they didn’t have one hundred and forty pounds of extra drunk weight to support. After the fifth table, I had very nearly had it and as my friend tried to stop, once again, I grabbed ahold of his belt and pulled to keep him moving. The stunt could have gone either way, but it seemed the fates were smiling on me and rather than smashing face first into the floor, Patrick just laughed and stumbled over his feet the last few steps to the door. We paused for just a second, shouting goodnights to Steve as I fished my keys from my pocket and we headed out into the night. 

The rain had picked up exponentially since I had pulled up and was coming down in cold sheets, a fact that delighted my very, very drunk friend as we made our way through the parking lot. There was a look of sheer delight on his face, as though the rain was a novelty and I envied, for just a moment, that blissful unawareness, but then I remembered what actually caused it and, well, nope.

“Dance with me, Joey.” It wasn’t a request so much as a command, complete with surprisingly steady hands guiding me into a weird, very wet and drunken approximation of a waltz. Surprisingly graceful, all things considered. I was able, somehow, to steer us in the general direction of my car and get my very giggly dance partner loaded in the passenger side and buckled up. The child locks were always on, just in case. I blamed my plethora of nieces and nephews, but I also lied to myself an awful lot. By the time I was situated in the driver’s seat, the rain had picked up to an almost unimaginable level and I cursed as I started to creep along the roads. Patrick immediately focused on the radio, futzing with the buttons until the static gave way to Sinatra, to which he crooned along, in the best way possible. Even three sheets to the wind, the man had more talent than most people on a good day. 

Despite the snail’s pace, the ride was far better than it could have been; the rolling thunder and endless flashes of lightning joining forces with the rain to keep people off the roads. Patrick had sung quietly the entire way home, his gaze mostly locked out the window at the lights of the city as we passed. Getting into my house was a well rehearsed dance, a testament to the number of times we had done it over the years, with Patrick counting each and every step. Why, I had no clue, but it worked for him. It was only once we were finally, finally inside, cold rainwater pooling on the floor, that I let out the breath I had been unconsciously holding since we got out of the car. The hard part was over. Dropping both sets of car keys in the bowl by the door, I herded Patrick towards the downstairs guest room. It was his anyway, more or less and I shoved a pair of pajama pants and an old shirt in his hands before guiding him to the bathroom.

“Alright, get changed. I’ll have coffee for you when you get out okay?” Always agreeable, Patrick somehow juggled his clothing and mussed my hair at the same time. 

“Kay. Whatever you say, Joey.” His gait was a bit wobbly but steady enough that I didn’t fear for his safety as I sprinted up the stairs to doff my own dripping wet clothes, trading them for a pair of cozy flannels that had been stolen long ago from the man downstairs and twisting my wet, tangled hair into a slightly less tangled braid.

The exhaustion was bone deep and I leveled a glare at the coffee pot as I slipped it back in place, giving both of the mugs that sat on the counter a stir and gazing absently at the clouds of cream that whirled around. My attention was only broken as Patrick shuffled into the living room, still humming Sinatra under his breath and collapsed on the couch. Gathering both mugs as well as a bottle of water and some Tylenol, I settled beside him offering the pills and water first. He took them quickly before greedily grabbing his mug and wrapping pale hands around the warm porcelain to take the first sip. His sigh was almost obscene and I couldn’t hide my smile as I sipped at my own beverage as he opened his eyes to gaze into the mug as though it held the secrets of the universe in it’s caffeinated depths. The quiet stretched on, punctuated by the storm outside as we both finished our beverages, resting the empty mugs between the piles of papers. Patrick stretched, squirming to rest his still damp head on my leg. This ritual had been the same almost as long as I had know him and I smiled despite myself, running my fingers through bleach blonde hair. He pressed into my touch like a cat, eager for affection and it kind of broke my heart a little bit as his eyes drifted shut, his voice thick with both alcohol and impending sleep. 

“You know I’m sorry, right Joey?” The words were ones I had heard before, more times than I could count, but they still rang true somehow.

“I know, Baby Boy. I know. Sleep now, okay?” The affirmative reply was muffled against my leg and I stifled my own yawn, moving just enough to get comfortable as I relaxed, the sounds of the storm raging outside mixing with Patrick’s soft, even breathing combining to lull me into a dreamless sleep.


	2. Pretend You Don't Remember

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What would you do if Pete Wentz showed up at your door with cupcakes and coffee?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. Okay, first of all, I am kind of blown away by the response this is getting. I thought I was misreading my stats more than once. So thank you. If you really want to make my day, check out the little buttons for comments and kudos down below. Or, if that isn't your scene, you could come chat with me at AllKindsOfPlatinumAndPercocet on Tumblr. I'm awkward but in a fairly amusing way. 
> 
> This has not, as is my way, been betad because, well, I do what I want? No. I just have an instant satisfaction problem. 
> 
> For SnitchesAndTalkers for being the absolute best. I hope you enjoy. 
> 
> Thank you all so very much for taking the time to read, it brings me so much joy. 
> 
> Aural Pleasure: 'Shimmer' by Fuel

Whoever the fuck was at the door needed to go the fuck away. Right now. Despite trying to ignore them to the best of my ability, resistance proved to be futile and it was only after I heard a crash and a string of curses from the spare room that I finally got out of bed. We had moved from the couch to respective beds sometime around four and it really, really was far too recent. I didn’t bother to put on pants, just grabbing my glasses and stomping down the stairs to the door as indignantly as I could. Yanking it open with a scowl, I looked at the familiar, smiling face on the other side of it and blinked in the early morning sunlight.

“Good morning, Sunshine!” The voice was far too cheery, but he was carrying both a tray from Starbucks and a box from Molly’s. Eyeing Pete wearily, I took the biggest cup from the caddy and slammed the door shut again before marching up the stairs and throwing open the door to the guest bedroom. Patrick was sprawled across the bed, looking still asleep and there was a pile of items from his nightstand scattered on the floor. 

“Hey, Trick? For some fucking unfathomable reason, Pete is at the door. He has coffee and cupcakes, although I don’t know where the fuck he got them at seven in the fucking morning. I left him standing on the porch. Come on down when you can, okay?” Without waiting for a response, I turned and headed back to my room, the cream and green cup clutched tightly in my hands. Splashing some water on my face, I shoved my glasses on and tugged on some yoga pants as I heard the door open downstairs and a shouted greeting. Fucking Pete was way too goddamn happy. Judging by the muffled curses, I wasn’t the only one that thought so. Shrugging a stolen cardigan over my tank top, I pulled my fingers through my tangled hair as I headed down the stairs, my coffee clutched in my free hand like a life saver. I meandered, sleepy and slightly cranky into the kitchen and jumped up on the island, ignoring both men in the room and immediately flipping open the lid on the cupcakes.* If there isn’t a creme brulee and a lemon meringue in here, I swear to fuck, Pan…” 

Trick laughed sleepily from behind his own black iced coffee, and Pete, much to his credit, handed over the requested treat already on a plate, his voice dripping with false hurt. “Joey, you wound me. You really think I would dare show up without your favorite? It’s like you don’t know me at all.” Glaring, once again, at my overly perky friend, I flipped him off and swiped my finger through the icing before popping it in my mouth.

“Seriously, Pete. Why didn’t you just let yourself in? I know you know the door code.” Patrick’s voice was still heavy with sleep and he looked ridiculously young in a pair of Batman pajama pants and faded Prince shirt, with his hair sticking up everywhere, although he was more than a bit green. I hated him just a little bit. 

“My hands were full, Coffee? Cupcakes? Ring any bells?” Pete’s voice was positively dripping with feigned indignation, but he couldn’t hide his smile as he took a huge bite of a chocolate cupcake. 

“It’s seven AM, how in the fuck did you even get cupcakes at this hour? And what are you doing here? Did you even sleep?” I’d known Peter for well over twenty years and his battles with insomnia were even more legendary than mine, but somehow, even if he didn’t sleep a wink, he had the charisma and energy to make up for it. I hated him just a little bit too. 

“I have a connection, I could tell you but then I’d have to kill you. I slept for about three hours, thanks for your concern, Joey. And I’m here because I missed my best friends. .” His voice was sincere but there was far too much mirth in his eyes for this hour and my level of caffeine. Finishing my first cup of coffee, I toss the empty cup at the trash can and miss by a mile before grabbing a second one and sipping a bit more slowly as things started to come a bit more into focus.

“Pan. I call bullshit. It is seven in the morning. On a Saturday. Don’t you have papers to be grading or soccer playbooks to be making or something?” I knew my indignant argument made absolutely no sense but I also knew that Pan wouldn’t hold it against me. He was even more dependant on coffee than I was.

“But now, I heard this story from a little birdie and I just had to see if it was true.” His grin was all white, white teeth and feigned innocence. 

“No, Pete. Whatever it is, no.” Patrick grumbled from behind his coffee cup, his eyes finally starting to focus after he had downed a good portion of his iced coffee. This was not a new routine; in fact, it had happened at least twice a month for the last two years. To his credit, Pete was not even phased.

“Come on. Why not?” I blinked at him rather incredulously and shook my head, glancing over my shoulder at Trick who was adjusting his glasses.

“Patrick, explain this to your son.” Trick’s sigh was the very definition of put upon, but I caught the barest hint of a smile. Even hungover as hell, Patrick somehow managed to be more capable of convincing arguments than a lot of people were sober, at least with Pete. 

 

“Because, Peter, sometimes some things, especially between a man and a woman, need to stay private. Besides, I know your birds and they tend to not exactly be reliable.” Patrick set his cup down and pushed his glasses up before rubbing his eyes with his fists. They were bloodshot, but aside from the slightly sickly pallor, there was no real indication that he had been absolutely sloshed the night before. Practice makes perfect? The thought hurt, more than it should. 

“Yeah, I call bullshit on that. For the last five years at least, private has meant nothing other than ‘nobody besides us.’ Try again.” Pete hopped up on the counter beside Patrick with a practiced ease, and ruffled his already messy hair, earning a glare that was obviously meant to be furious but came off as more slightly cranky angel.

“How about, because I said no? Is that enough of a reason?“

“Ricky, you know that isn’t enough of a reason. When the fuck has that ever worked? Never, that’s when. Just tell me what happened last night at the bar. You both know it will be easier than arguing with me for an hour and then telling me anyway.” Pete’s smile was wide and genuine, most likely because he knew he was right. 

“I don’t remember.” Patrick’s voice was small, almost ashamed, and he looked down, studying his bare feet as they swung against the cabinets of the island. 

“Well, in case you were wondering, you were quite jovial. And you should be expecting calls from Mina, Katherine and possibly Natalia.” With each name, Patrick seemed to get progressively paler, if that was even possible, and looked like he may be sick, although I hadn’t seen that in months. 

“Hey, you were apparently on your A-game. Although maybe taking a night off next week would be advised.” As light as Pete’s words were, there was genuine concern behind them, and Patrick nodded. Whether it would actually pan out or not was anyone's guess. 

I popped the last of my cupcake in my mouth and washed it down with a long swig of coffee

“Seriously, Pan. What are you doing here? There is always a reason for your early morning visits.” Eyeing the cupcakes critically, I snagged the lemon meringue from the box and pulled off the toasty, golden bit of swirl at the top of the icing. 

“Navy Pier. I feel like playing tourist and you two should come with me. It is far less fun if I have to go alone.” Pete took a huge bite of a chocolate cupcake, somehow managing to get frosting on his nose and sending a small flurry of sprinkles to my floor.

“You are sweeping now, Pan, just so you know.” I eyed the rainbow hearts that were scattered across my tile as Patrick leaned his head against my shoulder, picking at his raspberry and cream cupcake, his pale fingers smudged with pink icing. Turning, I pressed a kiss to the mess of fluffy, bleach blond hair that stuck up in every direction. 

“Come on, don’t make me beg. I mean, I will, I know Pattycakes likes it when I’m on my knees, but... “ Pan’s smile was all insouciance and light even as Patrick’s cheeks pinked to the same color as his cupcake as he flipped Pete off. “The fact that you have a face like a goddamn baby angel doesn’t exactly jive with the teasing and filthy mouth. I know I was shocked as shit the first time around.” 

“ Well, it’s not like it is anything I hadn’t heard bef- wait WHAT?” It took a moment for my brain to actually catch up with Pete’s words and as soon as I did I hopped off the island to stand in front of my friends. Trick’s face was still bright red and he avoided my gaze. Pete, however, did no such thing and smiled like a fool. 

 

“Explain.“ There was no request in my voice, simply because it was not an option to answer and Pan knew this. 

“Sometimes, Joey Doll, some things, especially between a man and another man, need to stay private.” That shit eating grin was right back in place and I could feel my nails biting into the skin of my palms as I clenched my fists. Patrick hopped down, just a bit wobbly, and quickly stepped between myself and Peter who was still laughing. I knew very well that he meant absolutely zero harm, and I would never actually hurt the man, but goddamn. 

“Breathe Joey. It’s just… it happens sometimes? Not recently. Usually when there is alcohol involved. It’s not a big thing.” Patrick trailed off with a sheepish shrug, and a small half smile, looking for all the world like a goddamn angel all blonde and pale and pink-cheeked. Apparently, there was more that I didn’t know about my friends than I thought, not that I held it against them in the slightest.

I sighed and shook my head once again. “I haven’t had enough caffeine for this. Or enough sugar.” Pete grinned and pointed at my cupcake. 

“Eat up, get changed and get those pretty asses in gear. If you two are ready quick enough, I’ll spring for brunch at Bang Bang but you have to move.” Pete swung his sneakered feet like a kid, bouncing them off of my cabinets and Patrick simply sighed, fishing around in my fridge for a bottle of water to accompany the Aleve that he had slipped into his pants pocket.

I shot Pete a glare and grabbed the plastic bottle from Trick’s pocket, popping the top and swallowing three with the last of my second coffee. It was going to be a long fucking day. 

 

Two hours, a shower and some hastily grabbed clothes later, Pan, Patrick and I were crowded around a table, remnants of pie slices and breakfast biscuits scattered over the surface. Reaching across to snag a bit of Patrick’s remaining bit of peach pie before he pushed the plate at me, finishing the last of his vegetarian biscuits and gravy. Pan, on the other hand, was devouring a side of candied bacon like it was the last bit of food on earth. Then again, it was fucking amazing. A beautiful morning, we all had ray-bans on as a concession to the bright sun and cloudless blue sky, and Patrick’s hangover aside, it was shaping up to be a perfect day the conversation easy and varied, covering everything from work and our respective families to the upcoming wedding of two of our former co-workers that was happening next weekend.I hated weddings. Hated. Them. They were right up there with feta cheese and televangelists. But, and I was loathe to admit this, they were a huge part of my life at one point, one of the ways I paid my bills as a photographer during school.   
And then my phone rang and it all went to hell. One of the many songs Trick had written during college blasted from the tiny device, drawing grins from both him and Pan, as well as some of the folks at surrounding tables. I glared at them over my coffee and answered the call, only to find a panicked Asher on the other end of the line, nearly hyperventilating, her usually calm voice somehow shrill and weepy at the same time. I couldn’t understand a word she was saying, no matter how hard I tried. 

“Ash. Ash. ASHER. Put Alex on the phone and get a paper bag to breathe into. Now, please. I can’t understand a goddamn thing you are saying.” My language earned me a glare from the Stepford soccer mom the next table over, but an apology from Trick and a bright smile from Pete seemed to placate her for the time being. Mouthing a thank you, I turned my attention back to the phone when Alex’s voice echoed down the line. 

“Joanna, what horrors did you tell my intended? She went positively white and wandered to the kitchen in search of a bag. Just being charming again?” I could hear the smile in his voice and couldn’t help my own in response and I quickly put the phone on speaker and plopped it in the middle of the table.

“ You know me, Allie Boy. I’m positively made of charm. I’ve got you on the speaker at Bang Bang. Say hello to the boys.” I could hear Alex’s laughter, slightly mechanized through the speaker and knew he was shaking his head. 

“Charm. Is that what they are calling it nowadays? Well, I’ll remember that. And what boys? Who in the world would I know that hangs out with you? I think I knew some guys once, hell what were their names… they were saintly, I know that but I haven’t heard a fucking word from either of them in so long I have forgotten what they actually sound like.” The smile was evident in his voice, and both Pan and Trick grinned, no doubt eyes rolling behind dark Ray Bans. 

“Yeah, yeah, yeah asshole. It’s been a while, we all suck at keeping in touch, we will do better and all that shit. If you hadn’t moved on to a bigger and better gig, well…. You know we will see you Friday at the rehearsal dinner, right? ” Trick’s words trailed off as he sipped his coffee, his hangover seemingly gone, and Pan jumped right in to pick up the slack.

“I’m sorry, but I believe I am actually hosting your damn rehearsal dinner at my club, right? Or is that someone else, I can’t quite remember. Maybe I should rearrange that..” It was my turn to roll my eyes now. 

“Alright, alright. You know I have to give you assholes shit when I can. Anyway, now that that is out of the way, as you may have been able to tell from Ash’s moment earlier, we had a bit of a catastrophe which, considering the wedding is a week away and this is the first hiccup isn’t really that bad.”

“ Get to the point please, Alex. My coffee's getting cold.” The laugh on the other end of the line was genuine, as was the shrill scream I could just barely hear from Asher in the background. 

“Jesus, you are persnickety today. You REALLY need to get laid, Joanna.” 

“ALEXANDER. Enough.” The tone of Trick’s voice was final, leaving very little room for debate even through the phone. 

“Sorry, sorry. I couldn’t resist. It’s all in love, you know that. Okay. Anyway, catastrophe. So we had this photographer lined up, fantastic work. Beautiful portfolio, everything was perfect and on schedule and…” The wailing in the background of the call became disturbingly more pronounced and my stomach sank as the pieces clicked into place.

“ Shit Alex, no. Please no. Don’t ask me that.” I dropped my head into my hands and tried, desperately, to tune out the words that were still spilling from the phone, Asher’s pleas now mixing with Alex’s. The peanut gallery at the table didn’t help either; Pan was laughing out loud and Trick, who was my favorite person in Chicago in this moment, was at least trying to be subtle about it. 

“Please, Jo? Come on, you know we wouldn’t ask if it wasn’t an emergency. Pretty please?” It wasn’t until a sound not unlike a whistle emanated from the phone and the puppy at the next table over tilted it’s head in confusion that I finally acquiesced, my head still against the table.

 

“ Fine.” The shriek on the other end of the line was absolutely deafening, and I felt a pang of regret for any dogs in a five-mile radius.

“Thank you, Joey oh my god! You saved my wedding!” A fresh round of sobs from Asher had me shaking my head and grabbing Pan’s coffee cup, my own long since gone. It was black and sweet because Pan was a monster and the reason we couldn’t have nice things.

“You’re welcome, Ash, really. It’s the least I can do. But seriously, I am not officially working the reception. I will get the highlights but I already bought a dress. I can get in touch with a few folks I know who can cover the majority of the reception for you. I’ve got a few favors I can call in still.” The babble from the other end of the line became nearly unintelligible for the duration of the call until I finally just hung up in exasperation, eying my table mates wearily. They both had remarkably similar smiles on their faces and I knew, even with the dark sunglasses we all wore, that their eyes would be sparkling with mirth. It was too fucking early for this. Glaring, I stole Trick’s plate, downing the last bite of his peach pie before flipping them off and dropping my head back to the table. Stepford mom was unamused. Good.


	3. The Room Was Spinning

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> evening out with your... well, best friends.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yup. I did some other things. There will be questions, I promise I will answer them in time. Maybe. I think. Feel free to ask them anyway, it makes me giddy. 
> 
> Not betad in the slightest because YOU DON'T POUR MY CEREAL. 
> 
> For SnitchesAndTalkers who is just a favorite. Enjoy. 
> 
> And Laudanum_Cafe, well you are the Eddy to my Saffy. Thank you for making me laugh, that is the best thing EVER.
> 
> Thank you to everyone who took the time out of their day to read this little tale, I hope it is enjoyed. 
> 
> Aural Satisfaction: "Angeles" by Elliott Smith

I kind of hated going out, especially on a school night, but it was midterms week and the days were all over the place scheduling-wise, but as a courtesy to the students, there were no exams scheduled before ten. The perks of working for a private school were many indeed. When Pete had called and nearly begged me to attend some event or other at his club, promising Patrick would be there I couldn’t say no, no matter how much I wanted to. Go out and enjoy an evening with my two best friends or stay in and read yet another inaccurate essay about Shakespeare. Tough decision. I even made an effort, trading my usual Chucks and hoodie for a shiny top and a pair of heels, forgotten at my house far too long ago to remember, that got me to almost 5’4”. It was about as good as it got. It had been fun, for the most part, and having Pan around only made it more so. The man may have had the personality of a toddler amped up on red bull and pixy stix, but he was a friend, one of my best, and the snarky running commentary on who was who and who was doing who was definitely a highlight of the night, especially when Trick had been whisked away, seltzer with lime and all, by a tall blonde wearing too much makeup and too few clothes. Pan had, more than once over the last pondered what exactly it was that drew people to Patrick like moths to a flame. It was decided, after one exceedingly long night, that it was that damn angel face. He looked so easily corruptible. If the stories I had heard, all second hand, of course, were true then he was anything but. 

The glitz and glamour was beyond not my scene, especially with the headache that was starting to sting behind my eyes, although I’d handle it. My shoes, however, were off as soon as we were able to sit down. I had almost zero patience for heels on a daily basis, and borrowed ones that were not only a size too small but four inches tall nearly gave me hives. Fortunately, there was free alcohol and that helped dull the pain, as did the increasingly snarky and typically hilarious commentary that Pete and I kept going from our table in the back while Trick was socializing, as it were. He was fantastically personable, even when sober and it was fascinating to watch. 

All in all, it was a good night, but exhausting as fuck and between keeping up a smile and the constant glare of flashbulbs because some local celebrity or other had shown up, my head was pounding by the time we finally ducked into the car to head home. I very nearly fell asleep on the ride back to Trick’s, my head resting on his shoulder in the back seat and my shoes hastily tossed on the floor while Pete drove. It was getting late and two of us had to work in the morning. By the time we finally pulled up to Patrick’s house, simply by virtue of the fact that it was closest, I was leaning heavily on both Trick and Pete to get inside, pleasantly buzzed, through my headache was wreaking havoc with that, but nowhere near drunk. After nearly stumbling up the stairs to the guest room, I squirmed out of my jeans and flopped down on the bed, head pounding and hid my face in the pillow tossing my glasses somewhere in the vicinity of the nightstand. 

Trick’s quiet laugh and a gentle hand on my shoulder as the bed dipped and a glass of water and bottle of Tylenol appeared in my blurry vision. “Joey, come on sweetheart, take these. You’ll feel better, I promise.” At that point in time, he could have told me that we were living on Mars and I would have believed him if the pain in my head would just stop. I gave a weak smile and popped the Tylenol dry, chasing it with a few gulps of cold water before collapsing back onto the bed. “If it doesn’t, I’m gonna hate you forever, Patrick. I hope you know that.” My words were muffled against the pillow, and I snuggled into the blanket that was draped over me. It was a strange role reversal, but one that was not entirely unwelcome. 

“I’m sure you will Joey. now sleep and feel better. No arguments, okay? You know where I am if you need me.” His words were warm and genuine, as always, although I could hear just the slightest laugh coloring his tone. Pressing a gentle kiss to the top of my aching head, he gave my shoulder a gentle squeeze and slipped out of the room. I was asleep before the door clicked shut. 

 

The hands around my neck were tight and rough, I could feel the bruises already forming beneath the dry fingertips. My chest burned as I struggled for each breath, tears streaming down my cheeks as I fought uselessly against the weight above me, my small hands scrabbling for purchase against slippery skin and my vision started to go gray and my head spun. A dark laugh, languid and poisonous reached my ears just before everything went black as hot, fetid breath brushed over my cheek.

The sound seemed to echo in my ears as I bolted upright in the dark. My chest heaved with exertion as I gasped for breath and the sheets were twisted tightly around my legs. It took me a minute before my vision actually cleared and the room came into focus, as much as it could when I was half blind and in the dark. I was okay, safe, in bed at Patrick’s. I was as close to home as I could get without actually being home. I was okay. I was okay. The words tumbled through my mind as I stumbled out of bed and carefully into the bathroom. The lights burned my eyes when I flipped them on, and I leaned on the sink as shaking hands splashed cool water on my face. I kept my focus on the thoughts in my head and willed the shaking to stop. It wasn’t real, not anymore. 

Pushing my damp hair back from my face, I leveled my gaze at the mirror. I was pale, more so than usual, and the makeup that I’d fallen asleep in was just slightly smudged, so I couldn’t have been out long. Then again, Urban Decay kind of knew their shit. I hated these nightmares, fucking hated them. They weren’t as frequent anymore, but when they did happen, they didn’t fuck around. At least I wasn’t alone this time, and I didn’t scream. Waking up from a nightmare with your neighbors banging on your door is so fucking far from ideal, I can’t even begin to describe it. My hands had finally stopped shaking enough to actually be useful, and I gave my teeth a quick brush before wandering back into my room. On the plus side, my headache was gone, so there was that. Making my way through the dark towards the bed, I groped around on the nightstand for my glasses, blinking as the shadows in the room finally became clear. 

The clock on the bureau glowed 1:27 in the darkness, the blue numbers going a surprisingly long way to calm me. Had I really only been sleeping for an hour or so? Christ. Exhaling a heavy breath, I blew my bangs out of my eyes and tugged my shirt off, throwing it to the floor along with my bra. A button down hung on the back of the door and I couldn’t help but smile. I swear Patrick owned more clothes than I did. Buttoning the shirt, I make my way quietly out of my room and down the hall towards Trick’s room, my bare feet silent on the plush carpet. The light of the television glowed through the crack in the door and I could barely make out muffled voices. In the last few years, I had spent more nights than I could remember in Trick’s bed; after breakups, nightmares, all-nighters during school and post drunken shenanigans. It had always been my safe place, he had, and the reverse was essentially true, although that was a fact that went blissfully unnoticed by my parents' thanks to the tree right outside my window when I still lived at home freshman year. They had been pretty understanding of most things, but there were very few parents who would be quite that accepting of a guy spending the night in their teenage daughter’s room, no matter how innocent it was. And it really was, despite what had been forever inferred and assumed, especially by Pete, who knew better than anyone else that nothing at all was going on. 

 

Speaking of, I heard his voice through the open door and shook my head as I pushed it open. That man spent nearly as much time here as I did. As annoying as he could be, he was one of the best friends I had ever had, and had proven himself time and again. Pushing the door open slightly, my words died on my lips as my jaw dropped. Pete was definitely here, alright, stretched out on Patrick’s bed with his white shirt rucked up under his arms and strands of blond hair twisted between his fingers as Trick gave him what was no doubt a top-shelf blowjob, based on the flat-out wanton moans coming from Pan Trick had a goddamn sinful mouth, there was no doubt about that. Snippets of a highly under-caffeinated conversation drifted fleetingly through my mind as I stared at my friends like a goddamn creeper, and I couldn’t seem to look away, even though I felt like I kind of should. Then again, turnabout was fair play, I suppose. 

Leaning against the doorframe, I crossed my arms, my fingers tight in the too long cuffs of the sleeves, and gave up convincing myself that I should just turn around and go back to my own bed, I had far too many questions for that. Pete, for his part, was ridiculously fucking vocal, although, with as much as he talked, that was about as surprising as the sun being bright or fish needing water. I could actually make out very little of what he was saying though, but honestly, that was unimportant. As his unabashed moans got louder, the fucker turned his head, whiskey-colored eyes meeting mine, shot me a wink and gave the filthiest fucking smile I had ever seen. The absurdity of the entire situation was not lost on me, and I clapped my hand over my mouth to keep from laughing. Or maybe whimpering just a little. Maybe. Although I couldn’t really think of anyone who would hold that against me, that little devil voice in my head certainly didn’t. The supposedly angelic one, however, was quick to counter that these were my friends, the best ones I’d ever had and not some personal porn. She was hogtied and shoved in a closet pretty quick. Judging by his moans and the stutter of his hips, Pete was close, very, and when he came with a broken moan, I bit my lip, rocking my weight from foot to foot in the doorway as I watched what should have been a private moment. Pete opened his eyes, giving me a lazy, blissed-out smile as he relaxed into the bed, loose-limbed and happy while Patrick pulled back, and stretched out beside him, face flushed, hair all fucked up and obviously hard. They made a very pretty picture indeed, but that was hardly a surprise.

“Tell me why we don’t do that more often?” Trick’s voice was wrecked and raspy as he flopped down on his back, eyes closed.

“There’s a list of reasons if I recall. The first being neither of us have an interest in any more than that. Convenience is key, Pattycakes. Besides, you need your voice to be in tip-top shape for work and if we messed around more, that wouldn’t necessarily be the best idea.” There was a laugh behind the words, genuine and oddly comforting in such an intimate moment. 

“I hate you, you know that right?” I could see Trick’s smile from here, bright and reassuring as he unbuckled his belt. Pan positively beamed and shook his head. 

“I call bullshit on that one, Trickster, you love me. And so does Joey.” Goddamnit, there was that filthy grin again as Peter turned his attention back towards me, still not saying a word. 

 

“Joey and I both tolerate you, Pete, maybe begrudgingly love but that’s about as much as you’ll get from me at the moment. Now shut up so I can get off, please?” There was an edge to Trick’s voice that was more than a little familiar, and Pete, for his part, shut up, his eyes darting between Patrick beside him and me in the doorway, brow raised in a silent question. 

Silence, of course, was never something Pete could abide by, and I could see, even in the dim light, a mischievous sparkle in his eyes. This wasn’t going to end well. “Hey, Pattycakes?” Pan’s voice was all fake innocence and light, although I didn’t buy it for a minute.

“What the fuck, Pete. What part of ‘shut up’ don’t you understand? I’m busy.” Trick’s words were nearly growled, cut off by a low moan as he shoved his pants down his thighs. 

“I was gonna offer you a hand, you don’t need to bite my head off.” I still couldn’t exactly pinpoint what the fuck Pan was up to, but Trick’s hand stopped moving and he gave an exasperated sigh. 

“No, I don’t want a hand, I’m fine. We tried that, it really didn’t take because you have the hands of a goddamn dock worker. Now, will you please shut the fuck up before I kick you out?” 

“I wasn’t offering my own services, Trickster, that’s not my style, but I betcha Joey would help, wouldn’t you?” That asshole. Pete’s grin was wide and proud, aimed at me once again, and I shook my head from my perch in the doorway, my hair falling in front of my face. “Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz The Third, I swear to god I’ll-wait, what?” Trick’s eyes snapped open and he followed Pan’s gaze even as his face went a lovely shade of pink, no doubt matching my own.

“I didn’t mean to be a creeper, seriously, I had a nightmare. And you said if I needed you…” I let my words die off as Trick pushed himself upright and waved me over, pushing Pete out of the bed in the same motion.

“Out, Pete. Shut the door.” There was very little room for argument in Patrick’s tone, and Pan knew better, hopping off the bed and grabbing his pants. He paused for just a moment to kiss the top of my head before slipping out without a word, the door snicking shut behind him. I didn’t hesitate, crawling across the bed and curling against Trick’s side. Between the two of us, we were maybe, almost decent, but it was iffy. Draping an arm over my shoulders, Patrick’s words were muffled against my head. “You okay?” 

I nodded slightly, dropping my head on his shoulder and sighing. “Yeah, it was just… I don’t remember it now, really.” That was a lie and Trick’s raised brow let me know he knew it, but he didn’t question.

“ I had a good distraction.” A smile played at my lips as his face went bright red and he raked his free hand through his hair, mussing it up even more. 

“Well, as long as you enjoyed yourself.” Patrick chuckled softly at my nod and fastened the button on his pants as I tried to hide a yawn. “You should lay down and sleep. I’m gonna take a quick shower and then I’ll be back, okay?” The question was almost hesitant, filled with years of knowledge and concern.

“Of course, go do what you need. I’m fine, Trick, I promise. Go, we can talk about it when you get back, or in the morning, whichever.” The last word dissolved into a yawn and Patrick finally looked convinced, trailing his fingers gently over my cheek. 

“If you say so, Joey. Relax, I’ll be right back.” I watched as he left, flipping the television off on his way by, the darkness only lasting for a moment until the lights in the bathroom flipped on. I let myself relax, snuggling into the soft sheets and closing my eyes as I listened to the quiet noises from the other room. My eyes were already heavy when he started singing in the shower; by the second verse, they were closed and I slipped into a deep, dreamless sleep.


	4. Everything In Moderation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> I always cry at weddings....

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Another trip into this craziness. I am so glad you all seem to be enjoying this.
> 
> Then again, you may not be, that is an assumption and you know what they say about those. If you wanted to hit the kudos or comment buttons to let me know, I would be forever indebted. 
> 
> As usual, this is unbetad, just my own tired eyes rereading words I have reviewed time and again. Mistakes are all mine. 
> 
> For the illustrious SnitchesAndTalkers because she is made of nothing but win and talent. It's true. 
> 
> Love to Laudanum_Cafe because of Sweetie Darling reasons. 
> 
> If you haven't read these ladies work, open another browser and get to it, I promise you won't be disappointed. And then come back, fangirl with me and then read this babble. Okay? Okay. 
> 
> Thank you so much for taking the time to read, it means the world. 
> 
> Aural Satisfaction: 'Come on, Eileen' by Dexy's Midnight Runners. It has been played at every wedding I have ever attended.

The week after talking to Asher and Alex was a blur of phone calls, some impressive wheeling and dealing for free labor, a seemingly endless series of midterms and students desperately trying to get extra credit far too late, and blessedly, a beautiful haze of alcohol at the rehearsal dinner. It had been surprisingly quite elegant which was not exactly something anyone would ever consider a forte of Pan’s, but he pulled it off exquisitely. The wedding, as was to be expected, was stunning. The ceremony itself as well at the reception were both being held at The Art Institute of Chicago and was, aside from the photographer fiasco, was blessedly free from any and all last minute emergencies. It was, even to my jaded little heart, one of the most beautiful weddings I had ever seen, even through the lens of my camera. 

Once all of the requisite pictures had been taken and my duties handed over, I slipped off to the changing room Asher had been using and traded my work uniform of head to toe, utilitarian black, complete with flats and a bun for the deep blue gown and a pair of heels, shoved at me by the bride herself. A bit heavier hand than usual took my work makeup to a level where I would sufficiently mingle with the well-dressed elite that constituted the guest list. Fortunately, I was officially off the clock and could indulge in some of the no doubt fantastic champagne that I had seen circulating between photographs. Sometimes it was the not so simple things. Brushing my hands carefully over my hair to smooth any flyaway strands, gave a last peek at the mirror; this was about as good as it was going to get. Taking a deep breath and pulling open the door, I mumbled under my breath as I wove in between the who’s who of Chicago, searching for a familiar face, or rather a pair of them. 

 

Despite the gown that skimmed the floor and the towering heels that had been shoved at me by Asher, I still felt slightly underdressed as I wove through the glittering crowd, my heels clicking on the shining floors as I navigated the who’s who of Chicago elite, decked out on their finest. It was a ridiculous fear of course, but there was still a bit of relief that blossomed in my stomach as I caught sight of the table we had been placed at. It was just far enough back to be both quiet and out of the way, but still close enough to not be one of “those tables” that every wedding has. Shifting my small backpack from my shoulder to slip under the table, I let my now empty hand graze over the strap of the camera bag draped across the back of my chair, Pan having been charged with watching it while I changed. “Has the fun started yet?” My voice was soft as I settled down in my seat and reached immediately for the glass of water that glinted in the lights.

“Of course it ha-fuck.” His voice trailed off as he turned around, pulling his eyes from watching Trick across the dance floor to look at me.

“That is far from encouraging, Pan. Is there something wrong?” I immediately started brushing my hands over the delicate silk of my gown, checking the straps and smoothing the skirt nervously. 

“No, no, Joey, there is nothing wrong at all. You look stunning.” I didn’t blush often, but the fondness in Pete’s voice had my cheeks warming although fuck if I knew why. Taking a sip of the water in my hand to wet my suddenly parched throat, I hoped that the soft lighting would disguise my blush but if the grin on my companion’s face was anything to go by, it absolutely did not.

“Thank you, Pan. You know you clean up pretty well yourself.” The words were accompanied by a soft smile before I brushed at a piece of fuzz on the shoulder of Pete’s jacket.

“You flatter me, Joey. You know that will get you everywhere.” The teasing note in his voice and playful bounce of his brows broke the slight, possibly imagined tension that hung between us and I couldn’t help but laugh, rolling my eyes. 

“ You are incorrigible, Pan.” The grin I was rewarded with was fucking light and there was that familiar stirring in my stomach again that I fought to push away by flicking my eyes back over the crowd. Pale blue and maroon-clad bridesmaids milled about, sylph-like through the crowd and their high laughter seemed to increase in the presence of a certain fedora-wearing friend of mine. Pan, being far more observant than almost anyone including me gave him credit for, followed my line of sight with a quiet laugh. 

“If looks could kill, Joey” His tone was teasing, just slightly though, and I leaned against his shoulder, the fabric of his jacket luxe and soft against my arm.

“People never cease to astound me sometimes. I mean, they really shouldn’t but…” I let the thought trail off and shrugged, settling back against my chair and returning my attention to Pete. 

“Nah, you’ve got reason to be pissed. Always have. And it’s not just you.” The last words were quiet, for my ears only, and I arched a brow in question although it was more teasing than in surprise. 

Pan grinned all bright white teeth and mirth. “It looks good on you. Oh! Speaking of looking good on you.” Dropping his attention, he slipped a hand into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a flat jewelry box, the black velvet looking plush against his dark hands. I couldn’t hide my blink and once again my traitorous throat went dry and my eyes wide. The asshole laughed and flipped up the box lid, pressing a kiss to the side of my head with a quiet laugh. 

“Breathe, Doll. Mom sent them for you to wear, apparently, Asher talks to literally everyone. She said, and I quote, ‘Joanna is saving my wedding, and she needs to look it.’ I’m pretty sure Ash has lost her mind, but.” Pete’s shrug was easy as he handed over the box. The diamonds and sapphires that laid on dark velvet sparkled almost too much in the elegant lighting. I shook my head, hair swinging over my shoulders and fighting the tears that stung my eyes, pushing them away with a laugh.

“Ridiculous, but beautiful. We will have to go visit tomorrow.” Pan just nodded and sat back as I carefully slipped the earrings in, pushing my hair back behind my shoulders. I could feel the cool metal brush against my neck as I turned back, snapping the box shut and handing it over. “What do you think? Respectable or just playing dress up in your mom’s jewelry box again? 

Pan laughed, loud and long, one finger pushing gently against the swinging stone, his fingertips just barely brushing the skin of my neck. I liked it far more than I should have and quickly blamed the champagne I had drunk before changing. “They suit you, Joey, you know that.” The smile that accompanied the words was warm and sweet and it did not make me shiver. Not at all. 

“He’s right you know.” Trick’s voice was low and he was so close that I could feel his warm breath ghost across my head before he placed a gentle, almost fleeting kiss to my temple and settled into the empty seat on my other side. I couldn’t help my smile, and neither could Pete.

 

“ You are both biased and you know it, but thank you.” 

”Now Joey, biased doesn’t mean wrong. Besides, Mama Dale knows her jewelry. She would never send anything but the best.” There was a teasing lilt to his words and I opened my mouth to argue, but the timing was all off. The delicate tinkling of china against crystal filled the air and the graceful strings faded as cocktail hour finally came to an end, and the reception formally began. The rustle of luxurious fabrics and click of heels on marble was a prelude to the puzzlingly familiar DJ crooning from the set-up he had in the far corner of the room by the string quartet and a piano. His voice was almost annoyingly unctuous and I wrinkled my nose, but the initial effect faded quickly as the wedding party, all ten Bridesmaids and Groomsmen entered, along with both Asher and Alex’s parents, each pair with their own themed song. Then finally, blessedly, the happy couple themselves to the strains of “Happy”, of all the songs in the damn world. Turns out Alex had had a hand in planning after all. The applause and smiles all around as DJ Smooth on the mic over there finally introduced Mr. and Mrs. Alexander Martin. I might even have teared up a little. I know Pan did.

“Be right back.” Trick’s voice was barely a whisper as the applause finally died down and he was gone before either Pan or I could question him, striding away towards the corner of the dancefloor. I caught Pan’s confused gaze just moments before DJ Smooth piped up again, announcing the first dance and the pieces clicked into place when Trick settled at the piano just as his voice faded off. Trick didn’t say anything but I could see his smile as his fingers trailed over the keys. Asher, for her part, looked just as confused as the rest of us were, but Alex was grinning as he pulled his wife into his arms. Then Trick started singing and the place went up in absolute cheers. ‘Let’s Get It On’ was probably the least appropriate song for a first dance ever, but it worked in some weird way, especially for Alex and Asher. Well, honestly mostly Alex, but it was sweet and unexpected and the moment was, as it should have been, absolutely perfect. Trick received hugs from both the bride and groom once he wrapped up, Asher nearly shrieking in joy. I loved the girl but she needed to tone it down a little. Or a lot. 

 

The evening wore down just a bit during dinner, a shockingly delicious vegan spread, and the toast that followed, all punctuated with witty, self-effacing stories and in-jokes that seemed to flow almost effortlessly into the family dances, after which there wasn’t a dry eye in the house. It was nice, in a way, to be a guest as opposed to working the event. The company, however, may have had a little something to do with that, as well as the Veuve Cliquot that the waitstaff distributed freely, although I limited myself to two glasses. I had opted to serve as DD for the evening, mostly because I didn’t want Trick or Pan driving my car. We were deep in conversation with Asher, while Tegan, the photographer I had contacted stood behind her and snapped away. While lingering over the last bites of a frankly delicious cake, DJ Unctuous’s voice echoed out over the notes of one of the traditional and annoying wedding standards. Pete, happily buzzed, sang along with every word and I couldn’t hide my laugh at Trick’s exasperation. In other words, it was perfect until the interruption.

“Ok, it’s time for a little fun, because it’s time for the traditional throwing of the Bouquet. For those of you who’ve seen the running of the bulls in Pamplona, it’s a little similar. There’s always a little risk for the lasses determined to get the bouquet in their clutches. It’s also the real reason you see so many high heels shoes tonight.” Jesus Christ, was this dude actually getting paid by the word? “As you know, traditionally the young lady who successfully catches the bouquet in mid-flight is a certainty to make her own way down the aisle. I’d like to request all the single ladies to step forward for the bouquet throw. The married ladies who’ve sneaked on, don’t be greedy. This is for single women only. Our lovely and charming bride Asher has been practicing this throw all summer, so give yourselves some elbow room.” I swear to God, Ash screeched and grabbed my arm, very nearly wrenching it out of the socket as she pulled me to my feet, despite my protests.

“ Ash, no. No, I’m not single.” Even though it was a flat-out lie, I shot a desperate look over my shoulder at a clearly laughing Trick and Pan, both of whom could walk their traitorous asses home.

“Bullshit, there isn’t a ring on your finger. Let’s go, Joey! It’s my wedding.” 

“ I don’t even believe in- 

”Joanna, I’m not budging. I swear to god.”. My last argument was cut off by a very determined Asher and there was absolutely zero room for argument in her voice as she dragged me towards the crowd of satin and jeweled women already grouped on the dance floor. My unappreciated escort deposited me in the front of the group with a quiet ‘stay’ before skipping over to the single chair that was set up a bit up from the group of women just clamoring for a handful of flowers. I cast a last glance over at the table I had been nearly carried away from only to see my escorts nearly doubled over with laughter at the spectacle. I hated them with all of my being for just a moment until the all too familiar sounds of “Single Ladies” which was the WORST song ever, echoed through the air. The seething hatred was quickly turned towards the DJ who was now talking in earnest over the obnoxious music.

“Ladies take your place behind the bride and be prepared to jump high. Fortune favors the brave! At the count of three, the bride will throw her bouquet. Ladies and gentlemen, let’s all count together. Are you ready Ladies? Would you just look at the concentration? There are some determined women out there.” Jesus Christ. The cheese factor was high. Ash, however, looked positively radiant as Alex helped her up like a gentleman, which he decidedly was not. Once steady on the chair, Asher gestured to the asshole with the mic and he both turned up the music and spoke over it at the same time. “Alright, The countdown! One, Two, Three!” There was nothing but Queen Bey for just a moment, as well as some wholly unnecessary pushing, shoving and a goddamn hand in the middle of my back giving me an unappreciated push just before I received a bunch of roses, lilies, and ribbon in my face. Goddamnit.

Another high-pitched shriek and I was nearly being bowled over by Ash as she threw her arms around my neck in a flurry of lace, silk, and excitement that I couldn’t quite understand as the song faded and that damn voice was back. “And we have a winner ladies and gentleman! I’ll make sure to leave my card at your table on the way out.” I didn’t flip him off as I wandered back to the side of the dance floor with the obviously pissy women that had just lost out on a pointless tradition, but it was very, very close. 

Peeking back over my shoulder I caught sight of Pan and Trick, both of their heads bowed in in conversation, the color evident on Trick’s cheeks even from here. I attributed the fluttery feeling in my stomach to the champagne and sugar, because denial is where it was at. I was, for the first time all night, thankful for the voice that carried over the crowd. “Ladies and Gentlemen, here’s where things get serious. It’s time for the Garter toss. I understand some of the guys jumping for the garter have been in training for months. Underneath those tuxedos and suits, we’re talking washboard abs, bulging biceps, nerves of steel. We’ve got Olympic gymnasts, high-jumpers, Morris dancers and even a wannabe rockstar. These guys are ripped and ready to rumble! Remember gentlemen this is serious business. The guy who catches the garter is destined for the altar next!” I didn’t hold back my glare at that one and shook my head as the unmarried men were herded up towards the dancefloor like some sort of well-dressed cattle call, my companions among them. 

Alex showily sat Asher down in the chair she had just cleared, a smirk on his face. “ Now while the groom retrieves the garter, don’t let any of those garter jumpers melt into the crowd.” The unmistakable opening notes of ‘Pony’ echoed through the air to ridiculous cheers as Alex nearly dove under Asher’s skirt. As always, the little asshole managed to make a spectacle of himself, although it was enjoyable and even I couldn’t help laughing as he finally emerged, lace and silk between his teeth complete with a triumphant grin and red-faced wife. Of course. 

“Alright, we have the garter. Get ready gentlemen!” Allie Boy whooped and turned his back, swinging the scrap of dusty blue and cranberry silk and lace over his head before letting it fly into the crowd of laughing men with hands outstretched. There was nothing but Ginuwine over the speakers as all attention turned back towards the group, eager with anticipation. The ridiculous item was clutched in a very, very familiar hand, although there was at least an attempt made to pass it off, which Alex halted very quickly, much to not nearly everyone’s joy. Everyone excluding me, Trick and Pan, of course. Pete was twisting the garter between his fingers, a smile on his face that didn’t quite meet his eyes, though nobody else would see that but Trick and I. Charisma and presence was Pan’s stock in trade, literally, and it was only a lifetime of friendship and whatever else it was that we had that allowed us to see past it. My thoughts headed down a decidedly ill-timed path as Asher, once again, bodily dragged me to the chair she had just vacated, nearly pushing me in it, babbling the entire time, her voice high and excited. 

I tuned most of it out until I heard Patrick’s name and I snapped back to attention, glancing back at whom my friend had always presumed was my boyfriend, despite being told otherwise at least a hundred times, with a soft smile. Trick, for his part, looked happily unaffected, but there was something hiding behind his eyes that I needed to know about. Now, however, wasn’t the time as Asher demanded my attention, muttering in my ear. 

“I mean, you’ve all known each other so long it won’t matter so much, right?” I blinked at Asher, struggling to get focused when the DJ, once again began babbling as he slid the music easily into ‘Sexyback’ which really? 

“What a match! Joanna, if you would take a seat, Pete have at it!” I was going to kill this dude, seriously. Pan, thank fuck, was a bit more level-headed than I was somehow, muttered a low ‘Breathe, Joey’ before ducking and sliding the garter up my leg to my knee. The light drag of his fingers was familiar and far, far too comfortable for such a public spectacle. And there were those goddamn butterflies again. 

Layers of silk fell back around my ankle as Pan stood back up, his whiskey eyes dark with something I couldn’t quite name or didn’t want to. “There you have it ladies and gentlemen. Our new lovely pair and if it would not be too much to ask we would like the gentlemen to give the lady a quick kiss?” This dude was a fucking dick, holy shit. My hands were clenched by my sides as Pan brushed a gentle, chaste kiss across my lips, much to the delight of the watching crowd, pulling me into a warm embrace to whisper in my ear.

“Almost over, Joey.” I couldn’t help but return the hug because it was Pan after all, and I relaxed just slightly into him, letting the anger fade away for just a moment and basking in the familiarity and comfort. It was short lived, however, when the flash of the flash of the camera went off before Alex and Asher pulled us both away for warm hugs. “Look at that, folks, the next happy couple. You know I have the name of a fantastic videographer if you need one, just let me know.” There was a hint of malice behind the words and I blanched, my hands clenching into fists, Pan’s firm hand on my waist the only thing keeping me from veering off to share my opinion of the tasteless joke with the teller himself. From the looks on their faces, neither Asher nor Alex was amused either, and when I finally caught sight of Trick as I arrived back at our table, the anger was nearly rolling off of him in waves. 

Again, though, he hid it well, and I grasped his hand beneath the table, giving him a watery smile. The one received in return, to Pan and I both, was warm and comforting, fucking light compared to before. “I’m going to have a word before we leave.” There was an edge of iciness to his voice that sent a chill down my spine that had nothing to do with the artificially cooled air, and I filed it away for later. 

The remainder of the evening passed quickly and after a bit more mindless chit-chat and a round of warm hugs and thanks from Alex and Ash, and a side conversation at the DJ booth for Trick, we were all headed home as a storm started brewing overhead, the dark sky in the distance split with blue-white streaks of lightning. I left the windows down for the drive despite the storm, or maybe because of it, the silence comfortable past the soft strains of the music on the radio and the growing rumble of thunder overhead. 

Pulling into the garage just as the deluge began, I felt a weight that I hadn’t even realized I had been carrying lift as I gathered bags to head inside, following behind Trick and Pan. I settled my camera bag carefully in its place of honor by the door and left the rest of my mess scattered on the kitchen island, flipping on the music as I passed the stereo before flopping down on the couch, dropping my feet in Trick’s lap and resting my head on Pan’s thigh. 

“Well, that could have gone worse, right?” The laughter that filled the room was rich and immediate, a much-needed sound that shattered any and all remaining tension that may have lingered from the few bumpy portions of the evening. Trick rested his hand on my ankle, the laughter still evident in his voice as he tossed his hat easily to the coffee table.

“That is an understatement Joey, but yes. Yes, it could have.” Sticking my tongue out, I shook my head and turned back into Pan’s hands as they carded through my hair.

“ I’m never going to another wedding again. Don’t let me, okay? Even if I say I really want to. Too much bullshit and fake laughter.” Trick hummed in agreement, and Pete grinned, a real smile this time, his eyes dancing with mirth.

“You miss real laughter, Joey?” There was a teasing note in his voice and I craned my head back to look up as his hand slipped from my hair and I felt the warmth of fingers just over my ribs.

“Peter Lewis Kingston Wentz the Third, don’t you dare.” I tried to keep my voice stern but it was an exercise in futility because Pan was a monster. His fingers danced quickly over my highly ticklish ribs, the delicate fabric of my dress doing exactly nothing to help and I squirmed and squealed trying to get away from the playful onslaught. Patrick, being a traitor, just laughed and copied Pan’s efforts on my feet.

“ Stop, you fucking assholes, you aren’t allowed to gang up on me!” Gasping and laughing, lighter than I had felt in a very long time, I begged for a reprieve, although the giggles may have possibly undercut the attempt at stern I was shooting for. Oops. Pan grinned down at me, just tapping his fingers over my ribs as I caught my breath. 

“What are the magic words, Joey?” His voice was light and teasing, Trick’s laughter the same and the words fell from my lips before I could stop them, before I could even think.

“I’ll do anything you want, just fucking stop.” Pan’s hands stilled in the silence that followed as Trick pulled in a deep breath in that silent, heavy moment as the lights flickered off and the music cut out before the room was lit up again, although silent.

“Anything? ” There was a note of something intense in Pete’s voice; dark and wanting. I glanced at Trick, his hand still resting heavy and warm on my ankles, his face unreadable save for a glint in his blue eyes.

 

“Anything.” The silence felt almost crushing until Pete’s hands rested gently, almost carefully on my waist as he shifted me upright, pulling me into his lap.

 

“Joey.” My name was a whisper and I finally opened my eyes to meet Pete’s gaze before looking at Trick. Their expressions were both soft, a glimmer of hope sparkling behind their eyes, both baby blue and wide-eyed brown, and there it was again, that flutter I had been ignoring and avoiding. I’d gotten pretty used to lying to myself, although the truth felt really, really good. 

“I’m not sure how this all would work if it would, or can but I want. I want, I want, I want." It would seem that once I actually let myself talk, I couldn’t fucking stop, a fact which amused Pan to seemingly no end as he laughed softly, brushing a hand over my cheek before leaning in towards me. 

“You’re allowed to want, and you aren’t alone in that.” The quiet words were accompanied by a gentle thumb sliding back and forth over my wrist, and the ghost of warm breath against my heated skin. Trick’s hands, calloused and gentle, slid over my mostly bare shoulders, brushing my hair aside before his lips teased my neck and I could feel his smile. 

“It’s up to you, Joey, whatever you want.” My throat went dry again, a shockingly familiar occurrence at this point, and I grasped Pan’s arms where my hands rested on them. The silence hung, heavy and thick in the air for an endless moment before I found my voice again. 

“Upstairs.” The word was a gasp as a crash of thunder rang out overhead and the house was plunged into darkness.

**Author's Note:**

> Love it? Hate it? Have questions? I am over at AllKindsOfPlatinumAndPercocet on tumblr. Come peek in and witness the awkward. I will probably fangirl over you too, JUST SO YOU KNOW.


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